I’ve never liked February. It’s always been a tough month for me. This year is no different. The reasons are not the same, but the feelings are. Magnified.

I keep trying to be happy, but I’m not. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to do it. I keep trying to find distractions for myself: cooking shows and recipes for Pancake Week, Lauren’s quilt, the Sims, voracious reading. None of it helps. At the end of the day, I’m back where I started. Terribly, terribly unhappy.

It’s probably a good thing I haven’t been writing as much recently. None of it would be very much worth reading. It would all come down to the same things: I miss my daughter. I want her to be alive. I want things to be the way they should be.

But they’re not. And they never will be.

February, my yearly demon. My annual bête noire. Some things never change. I wish I could blame the way I feel on you.

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